Forced Empathy
by Zombie Cat Scientist
Summary: Sociopaths can turn their empathy off at will. What if you could force one to always keep it on? Realistic psychopathy, for once. / Or: Harry travels back in time to kill Tom Riddle before he can make a horcrux. But he didn't quite factor in his own soul fragment or how it would react to a whole soul-version of itself.
1. Death of a Soul

_**Forced Empathy**_

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 **Summary: Only a soul that exists in the past may travel to it. Harry travels back in time, at the cost of his own soul, to kill Tom Riddle before he can make a horcrux. But he didn't quite factor in his own soul fragment.  
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 _Studies on psychopaths have recently shown they can turn on and off their empathy at will. They use their empathy to get close to their victims, then, when it is convenient for them, turn it off. That pretty much means all those stories about teaching Riddle to have feelings about people, empathize with them, where he struggles to go back to total darkness because he cares about their pain? Yeah, that's not realistic._

 _There would be no struggle. He would just turn his empathy off, and thus stop caring about their pain. Bye bye inconvenience!  
_

 _It's been concluded the only way to cure psychopathy is to find some way of permanently putting the empathy 'On', and deactivating the switch. What better way then, but to outright force them to? Even then, they'd probably be pretty messed up._

 _This is just a plot bunny and likely will be very short, maybe even a two-shot. It's motivated by all those really, really unrealistic fics of people cuddling up to an abuser who in all likely-hood /would/ act that charming and like he cares that much about them, that they're that special... until they are firmly in his grip, at which point he'd treat them like crap just like the rest of his followers, and, if they genuinely are as powerful as him, murder them the moment their guard is down because Riddle doesn't /want/ an equal, and sociopaths are perfectly willing to sabotage things even for themselves as long as they still remain better off than the object of their spite._

 _You are free to steal the idea for your own fic, and if it results in things being better written and a better understanding of psychopathy from people then I will be glad for it._

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 ** _._**

 ** _One. - Death of a Soul_**

 ** _._**

 _They had broken into the Unspeakable's research last month, looking for the edge that could tip them over in the battle against Voldemort._ When Harry learned he could travel far into the past, he'd been giddy, and wanted all of them to come, but Hermione looked grim. Ron wasn't there with them... he had sacrificed his life to save them, a week before, gallivanting off on his own to buy them more time by drawing the Death Eaters away from their location. The loss was still fresh on all their minds. Ron had been an idiot and a prat at times, but he'd been _their_ idiot, and had willingly died for them.

They were hiding now in an Unplottable location, on an island populated by Medusa where few wizards would want to roam, but one couldn't hide forever if you wanted to make progress. The gorgons had been surprisingly friendly to the young Parselmouth and his friend, but didn't want any part in the war. They weren't the only ones, and with nearly all their allies dead, they were alone. That was why he couldn't believe Hermione looked even the slightest bit hesitant about time travel when she'd been the first one of them to ever use a time-turner, and that was just for classes!

"Harry, the consequences of going into the past will be enormous. There's no guarantee, going back that far, that any of us will even be born if you do this," she warned. "There will be no easy trek back into the future, or into the past for that matter; this is no time-turner. The Butterfly effect means your parents, if they even live, could end up having a baby girl instead of a boy, and that's just one of many changes that could occur."

"I don't care, as long as you're with me. We've lost so many. With Voldemort dead, even if different people are born, at least they won't suffer," Harry said hotly, unable to believe this is even a debate.

Hermione closed her eyes. "Harry, I can't come with you. Why do you think this technique hasn't been used before? Not only is it dark magic, with chances of completely messing up the time line and leaving a world worse than the one you left behind-" Harry snorted, unable to believe that. "-but it's the **_darkest_** of magic. It requires the sacrifice of a soul."

Harry gaped. "What? You're not planning on sacrificing yours, are you Hermione?"

The bushy haired girl shook her head. "Yours. But I will take mine too, if it will help. If everything goes right, we'll be reborn none the wiser that any of this ever happened, anyway."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. "That's insane. How is time travel supposed to help if we're both soulless? We'll be drooling vegetables. We might as well let ourselves be kissed by Dementors."

Hermione looked at him grimly. "You wouldn't be soulless. You seem to have forgotten you have two of them, even if one originally was never supposed to have been yours. The spell requires that any soul going into the past must have a counterpart there. Only you, Harry, as a horcrux, can make the journey that far into the past. I have another spell to alter the shard to make the soul fragment more like yours, and carry your memories. But you'll never be whole again. You will suffer, possibly even into the afterlife."

"That would make me just like Voldemort." It spoke of his total desperation that he was even considering this instead of throwing it out of hand.

He hadn't actually said no.

Tears whelmed in her eyes. "Oh, Harry... You could never be him. It's our choices that make us who we are. Not what our bodies are made of."

"Or souls?" His lips quirked. "I can't believe we're doing this. The Darkest of Magic. Even Voldemort didn't destroy the souls of his own allies."

"But he did use Dementors against his enemies, Harry," she pointed out.

He closed his eyes, and considered for a long while. They really had no choice, did they? Things had gone so wrong after the elder wand had decided to accept Voldemort as lord, due to the snake-faced monster (no offense to the resident gorgons, of course) disarming Harry in a duel simply to belittle him, but also because the man was not entirely stupid and was quite capable of noticing when a wand wasn't obeying him. Harry cursed every day the fact he hadn't learned Occulumency properly, and Voldemort had read his mind. On the run, it had been one of the first things he'd rectified, with quite a bit of trial and error.

He just wished others hadn't died for his mistakes. With Voldemort having created even more horcruxes that they had no hope of finding, they had no hope of defeating him conventionally any longer. If they did not do something drastic, those sacrifices would be in vain.

"Alright, let's do this."

" _Psyche exorcis,"_ came the spell, a star-flecked, dark shadow patronus leaping from her wand, only a cloak-like creature instead of her normal otter. Where a normal patronus gave happiness and wonder, this one fed off of the worst memories the caster could give it. A newborn Dementor in the making, it slammed into his mouth and burrowed under his skin and through every organ. His eyes turned pitch black.

It was the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced, even more than a Crucio. That, at least, had been purely physical. This, however, was mental anguish layered atop every nerve in his body screaming at him in agony, his very soul screaming at him in betrayal.

He didn't blame it, really.

In moments, Harry blanked out from the pain and shock.

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* * *

.

When he came to again, he felt like something was profoundly missing from him. A cold ache in his body that could never be filled. Something horribly wrong. A quick review of his memories showed, however, that Hermione had been successful at least in keeping those intact. He remembered all too well the horrors of the war. He felt like he would never be happy again.

 _What have I done?_

A look around confirmed she'd been successful in another way, too.

He wasn't on the island anymore. He was sitting in a pile of rubble, next to the broken shell of a Muggle bomb from World War 2.

A different person probably would have felt the desire to try and save young Tom Riddle. Felt that it was the moral thing to do, to try and sway someone to the light before they fell completely. Harry had no such compunction. Maybe it was the loss of his soul talking, but he found the concept disgusting. Value one life, which was known to be messed up from the beginning due to being conceived by love potion, and likely to turn to the dark no matter what, over hundreds of innocent children the man had killed? Over his friends and family? And the Muggles were started to catch on. The moment they did, the Wizarding World would be over, and the only one left standing the immortal Voldemort.

Perhaps that had been the sick man's plan all along, to be the only special person left in the entire world. To genocide the entire Wizarding Race once they started to bore him. They were, after all, the only true threat to his power.

You had to be fucking nuts if you thought he was going to play Saint Potter over that monster! No matter what others may have accused him of, he really was no saint. Harry had almost been sorted into Slytherin, and while, sure, Slytherins could be as nice as anyone else... they had an association with ruthlessness, of not letting anything get in their way of their ambition. And his ambition was to stop that man at all costs. Murder him as a baby, if he had to.

Although, it looked as if he had not traveled quite far enough to murder him as a baby, if the war with Grindelwald was raging on then the young man had to be at school already. That could be problematic, but Harry was turning 18 shortly and had learned through trial and fire with death at his heels, more than a match for any schoolboy even if it was Riddle. Hopefully. Riddle had been unusually powerful as a boy, more powerful than many grown wizards, but, Harry had successfully dealt with his adult counterpart several times, and his Dairy self. He could deal with a kiddy version.

But first thing was first. To get to the orphanage. Hopefully the new year at Hogwarts hadn't started yet. Thankfully, he was already familiar with the location, and knew exactly where to go.

Harry apparated.

The scene he saw was not one he was expecting. One of the houses nearby was rubble. It occurred to him, abruptly, that when Tom Riddle had begged to stay at Hogwarts, it hadn't just been a desire to stay at home. It had been a very real fear for his own life. Magicless London was not safe for a young boy, not at all, during this time period. Dumbledore had acted with a prejudice against the young man from day one, not that Harry could blame him when he knew the boy was a thief and an animal butcher. It was just what the monster deserved, really.

Briefly, he wondered if that was his lack of soul talking, and if he should be more concerned.

He opened the door of the orphanage, not caring who saw him, and scanned for the dark haired youth. The matron spotted him and came briskly over. "Did you just lose your family, young man? Well, we can't afford any more mouths to feed. We're already on rations."

"Where's Tom Riddle?"

"Riddle?" she seemed taken back. "The freak?" That word hurt, reflexively, even if he knew it wasn't directed at him. "He's in his room upstairs. Preparing."

"For school?"

"To leave," her tone was brisk, but slightly confused. "He's old enough for a job now, or at least looks it, and we really can't afford to keep him. He doesn't want to be here, either. So we're turning him out."

For a moment, sympathy actually did fill him. He'd forgotten there had been a time when orphanages weren't obligated to keep children until age 18, and when child labor laws weren't what they were in his day. He wouldn't want to be in this position, especially not when the country was war-torn.

 _But he's your worst enemy. You should wish it on him._ Some dark part of him whispered. Well, it didn't matter. He'd be putting the bastard out of his misery soon enough.

Wand at ready, its warmth a small comfort to his aching cold in the depths of his heart ( _but never enough)_ he stepped upstairs, cast a muffling charm so no muggle would notice the ensuing racket, and flung open the door, wand at the ready. Tom looked up, looking almost exactly, if perhaps the smallest bit younger, a mirror image of Diary Riddle. Younger was good. That meant he hadn't made a horcrux yet, and wasn't immortal.

" _Avada kedavra!"_ Harry shouted, uncaring of the consequences. There was a war going on. One more casualty would hardly be noticed, and he'd be happy to go to Azkaban for this.

Green light flew out, and while Riddle admirably made a move for his wand, there was just no time. It struck him and he fell, stiff as the dead. Deep pain wove through Harry like it had struck him himself, but he grinned and bared it, glad his ordeal was finally over, and so _easily_ too, for once. He kicked at the corpse.

There's just one thing. The spell isn't infallible.

For one, it requires intent. Deep down, Harry truly didn't want to be dead. It's hard to kill yourself with the Killing Curse, although it's been done; Voldemort had done it himself by accident, just by being so hateful, although that was more a case of spell backfire.

And, Riddle had the exact same soul. In fact, he had a whole one, while Harry did not. Harry's shard should have been subordinate, being only a little fragment that had long lost its original personality. Horcruxes were meant to preserve and help their maker, tether them to the earth, not destroy or hurt them. As vain as Voldemort was, he would never have stood for a second version of himself unless he had some way of making himself superior to it.

Harry had thought Riddle had no horcruxes. But nobody actually knew what would happen if you brought a shard of a soul in contact with the whole version from the past.

For a brief moment, Riddle's soul detached from his body, flying right out of the room... and then, was drawn straight back, pulled by Harry, his own would-be killer. Harry ducked the wraith form of the body, which continued back straight to its otherwise undamaged body.

Riddle's finger twitched. A jagged lightning bolt scar traced his neck, mirror to Harry's own.

Harry stared in horror. No. It couldn't be.

Tom moaned, and Harry moved to grab the boy's wand, which was only inches away from the young man. If he had to, he'd slit both of their throats himself! Coming to his senses, if a bit confused as to what had happened, Tom glared and kicked at his arm before grabbing his own wand, hissing, " _You tried to kill me! You'll pay!"_ Figuring there already was dark magic used in the vicinity, and turn about is fair play, Tom gave no mercy: "Crucio!"

Harry struck the floor, writhing in pain. But as he did, Tom cried out too, and gripped his scar. Unable to concentrate, the spell ended. Viciously, Harry grabbed at Tom's hair and pulled him in for a punch to the face, ready to brawl on the floor like a muggle.

Only to yelp as the pain traveled through him, too. Tom hit him back, then winced the same way, and gave him a curious, calculating look. Both stood up and backed away from each other.

 _What in the world?_ He knew he could sometimes feel things around Tom before, even see through his own eyes, but this was taking things to a whole new level! Both of them stared at each other, neither of them quite eager to suffer pain again so soon, and both quite aware the other seemed to have no idea why this situation had occurred. Somehow, their curious stares and lack of immediate action - admittedly more from being completely puzzled at how to injure the other rather than due to lacking hostile intent - allowed the two of them to communicate in complete silence a temporary cease-fire.

"Who are you?" Tom asked, wand still pointed at him. "Why are you trying to kill me?" There was a compulsion to it, which Harry didn't appreciate.

Harry licked his lips. "It's a war." Let him think he was one of Grindelwald's, it was easier than the truth.

"You didn't answer my first question." Uneasy. It meant Harry had resisted his compulsion. Few people could throw off even his silent Imperios. The knowledge made Harry want to smirk.

"Harry," he answered, a touch unsure about this. Introducing himself to Riddle had never been part of the plan. "I'm just another orphan, like you." He looked ragged enough to be an urchin, really. He could see Tom's lips curling, drawing conclusions: an urchin who hadn't even gotten an invitation to Hogwarts couldn't be that magically powerful. No last name meant he could be a mudblood, and he certainly wasn't a legitimate pureblood. Unless he'd come from another country, but Harry's accent was far too British to be from anywhere else.

Yet Tom surprised him by concluding otherwise. "You were born in another country and managed to end up here in your youth?"

Harry's eyebrows knitted together. "How did you make that conclusion?"

"You should have gotten a Hogwarts' Letter. You're too magically powerful not to," Tom answered, smug. Ah, of course.

"Maybe I was," it was best to feed Tom's ego here so he wouldn't pry too deeply. "I don't exactly remember my own birth."

It was then he noticed something strange. Being in this room, the emptiness in him had settled a little. Being close to the rest of the soul made him feel more whole, although he was still not happy. He wondered how Voldemort had ever stood it; he supposed the man had to be quite desperately afraid of death, or maybe he'd numbed himself enough to not care.

"So, you were born in another country, and your true loyalties lie there... so you turned readily to Grindelwald's side when he came, and decided killing Dumbledore's students would earn you honor on a platter, is that it?" Tom sounded like his question was rhetorical, like he already knew the answer. Too clever for his own good, that one - he'd quick-witted himself all the way to the wrong answer! But he did admit it fit all too well.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, fidgeting. "Have you been practicing dark magic?" He wanted to know if it was something Tom had done to survive - he was really hoping it wasn't his soul fragment, although with a sinking feeling he was sure it was.

"I've dabbled. You wondering if I read your mind?" Tom smirked. "No, it was merely an educated deduction. Trivial to make for one such as myself. I could, if I wanted to. It's sad your Avada Kedavra failed - it must have been badly done, it's supposed to work every time. Although it looked full fledged." For a moment, Tom looked terrified, as he remembered his brush with death. For a few moments, Tom really had been dead. His worst fear in the whole world. "You really are off; I'm not one of Dumbledore's favorite students. He wouldn't care if I died, he'd probably celebrate. You've been a complete fool, making an enemy of me. Even if I can't hurt you yet," Tom's eyes narrowed.

Harry rolled his eyes. This one truly was full of himself. But Tom had unwittingly answered his question anyway. "I take it you have no idea why that is."

Tom looked stung at not knowing something and having to admit it. "No. But I know you can't hurt me either." Then a note of glee came into his voice. "That wasn't a half baked killing curse, was it? It was a full one. You just can't kill me."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You can't kill me either. Guess we're even." Actually, Harry had a new plan. It would be painful, but he could kill the both of them. Remove the tether. Tom was on his guard now, but the boy had to sleep sometime, and he'd probably drop his guard completely if he thought Harry couldn't hurt him. Or perhaps he should just get it over with now; his guard already seemed lower, the boy preoccupied with his greatest weakness: gloating.

Before he could carry out his second murder plan and a suicide, though, the door banged. "Tom! You've dallied enough! Take your friend and leave!"

Tom sighed. "I'm going!" He picked up his bags, and leveled an uneasy stare at Harry. "I don't know what to do with you. This condition perplexes me. I've never met you before in my life, there is no reason for the two of us to have a magical bond. The only easy conclusion is that you really did bungle the curse somehow." He seemed to decide something. "I can't stand to have any sort of weakness, if whatever pains you pains me as well. You'll have to come with me."

Harry blinked with surprise. "Oh, er," that sure made things easier than having to stalk him, didn't it? "if you want. I don't actually have a place to stay." He did have some emergency cash and rations, so he could rent a place temporarily.

"Doesn't matter, neither do I," Riddle said briskly, making up his mind. "Come on."

And then, with sheerest brazen arrogance, he turned his back on his own enemy and walked right out the door. And Harry thought he was the Gryffindor here! Shaking his head, Harry found himself following, trying to ignore the horrible numbness that still coursed through his body, and the lingering pain from the ripping away of his old soul.

A loud noise and vibration wracked the foundations before they even made it outside.

Outside, straight into war torn London with no shelter as bombs rained on their head.

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 _Whelp, I could end it right there, I suppose. You could day dream what happens from there, after all, and it makes a nice one-shot. As you can guess, a sociopath Riddle doesn't give a fuck about anyone's pain... unless he's forced to feel it himself, the exact moment he does it, and not just as a punishment either. I figure that's probably one of the only ways to actually make him learn. Even then, he'll be constantly looking for a way to get around it, which isn't true empathy at all. It'll be a slow process at best._

 _History : It's true that there was a time when there were no child labor laws and children could be thrown out of orphanages once they were deemed old enough to work in the factories. I seem to recall FDR put an end to it eventually, but I don't remember when. In any case, I play fast and loose with the timeline for the sake of a more interesting story. Don't expect perfect canon from me, when J.K.R contradicted herself all the time anyway._

 _On Shipping : I've tried to keep both Harry and Tom in character, with Harry being a bit negatively influenced from soul suckage / a touch darker from the war, and as such, **don't** expect them to start kissing one chapter in, just because Harry 'intrigues' Tom or some cliche bullshit like that, if I continue at all. Seriously. I hate poorly done romance plots anyway, and, no offense, but nearly every single 'Tom lurves Harry because he finds him so specialz' is junkfic. They can meander for chapters with no plot whatsoever beyond way too over the top sexual tension and bickering, where the character makes all the Slytherins go googoo eyes over them, except for one or two designated bad Slytherins who Tom inevitably tortures at which the protagonist shrugs off because love torture and ethics, am I right. I'm not against slash, I don't even like het either when it's bad enough. Also, when you make it romance off the bat you give away that they're going to reconcile at the end, instead of keeping up the suspense that Harry/other Time Traveler might have to murder Riddle anyway._

 _Someone may complain about Harry using unforgivables, but that's actually in character for him in the books; when stressed enough, he'll act really viciously to his enemies without much remorse. There was serious 'it is ok if the good guys do it' syndrome in book 7. Although it's been like a decade since I've read it (it is my least favorite in the series), so don't expect, again, perfect canon. This is something a good fic should probably confront, the moral failings of the protagonist. Tom's empathy sucks in this... but so does Harry's right now._

 _I don't really remember all of Tom's year-mates; if someone could write a review with a few of their names that'd be really helpful. I've read so many fanfics I don't know which names are official and which are fanon at this point._

 _._


	2. Spinning half lies

_**Forced Empathy**_

 _ **A/N** : I forgot to clarify fully this last time. I'm not opposed to making them gay for this story, just against really bad romance like what fills most of the site, but it won't necessarily be very romantic (I am not even sure if they will become friends yet, rather than just reluctant allies), and any romance would be very, very slow-burn and have not even a hint until probably ages later because they hate each other so much. I'm much more inclined toward friendship at the moment. Believe it or not but a gay man can be friends with another male he likes very much without wanting to sleep in his pants. Anyway, you lot get a fast update, I guess I'm just in the mood to write instead of keeping this a complete one-shot and to see where things go. It cheered me up the other day to notice a Orochimaru fic I wrote awhile back got more reviews than I realized; it didn't get very many at first, only about 15, but somehow a year later it's more than doubled the number at 70 reviews. :3 It makes me feel encouraged that even if I don't get any reviews right away for this weird little work (and I haven't) I might still get some readers later on. Anyway, my notoriously terrible self esteem hasn't crashed yet into hating my own fic for the most minor flaws, such as my playing so loose with history, so there's that...  
_

 _ **Last time** : "You can't kill me either. Guess we're even." Actually, Harry had a new plan. It would be painful, but he could kill the both of them. Remove the tether.  
_

 _[..]_

 _A loud noise and vibration wracked the foundations before they even made it outside._

 _Outside, straight into war torn London with no shelter as bombs rained on their head._

 _._

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 ** _Chapter Two - Spinning half-lies_**

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* * *

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Harry's mind raced as they crept over rubble, cast a lumos and bubble head charms to walk through smoke and dust, and tried to predict where the planes would drop their burdens next. Following Riddle was the perfect opportunity to wait for the boy to drop his guard so he could finish murdering him - but he also considered whether it might be in his best interest to 'help' Riddle learn how to fix whatever weirdness was causing both of them to feel pain when they struck each other. That would certainly mean the end of their cease-fire, but he was still confident he could take Riddle in a fight, and it wasn't like he particularly wanted to commit a murder-suicide.

The story Riddle had concocted would have been a perfect fit, if Harry had only actually been from this time line. For a moment the boy reminded him of Hermione, determined to have everything fit together neatly through sheer will and genius.

"We'll evacuate ourselves to Knocturn Alley," said Riddle confidently. "I have a contact there willing to give me an apprenticeship, and we could rent a room at the pub in Diagon Alley for a night while I arrange things. There, I will be able to research any sort of magic needed to get us out of this," he sneered, " _predicament_. After that, we can go back to murdering each other, if you like."

Harry suspected he knew who this contact was. The items dealer from his time. Riddle was known to have worked for him right after Hogwarts, he'd just had no idea he'd had contact with him so early on.

"Ah, murder won't be necessary," Harry lied. "It's like you said, I've lost my motivation now that I know you aren't Dumbledore's favorite pet." That was such a weird sentence to say.

"As if I'd ever," Riddle said with disgust. Then he stilled. "Do you feel that?"

"What?" Harry asked, but his question ended up getting rendered moot - a wraith had draped itself across a tender young body, pressing itself mouth to mouth, and several others drifted in from broken windows and back alleys.

Dementors. These ones must be allies of Grindelwald, or perhaps the Ministry hadn't created its alliance with them yet and these ones were just opportunistic - he hastily tried to recall when that peace treaty had been drawn between them.

How had he not felt them coming? He had always been badly effected... but there was now only the numbness, he realized.

"Can you manage a patronus?" Tom whispered uneasily.

"I could once, but I'm not sure I have any happiness left," he confessed, uneasy. Once, the dementors had been horribly eager to get at him. Now they seemed to regard him almost with a hint of disdain; like he was rotting leftovers from a sloppy meal. Maybe he was. They seemed far more interested in Tom, who in his original time they had no interest in whatsoever except as an ally to supply them with more souls to eat. Maybe for the same reasons they weren't interested in Harry now?

"Just summon a happy memory, it doesn't matter if you can feel it any more," Tom advised. "Expecto patronum!" he shouted, and, quite expectedly, a long silvery snake burst forth.

"Expecto patronum!" Harry shouted, focusing on his cherished memories of Ron and Hermione before he lost them, a perhaps more sad than happy thought for him right now, but instead of a silvery white stag, it came out - wrong. Not light, but darkness flooded forth, and a great black stag stood before him. It ran toward the Dementors, and instead of running away from it they seemed drawn to it, distracted away from their meals by this fascinating bit of misery. The stag pranced away, and the serpent completed the job by nipping at their flanks if they looked the slightest bit inclined to stay instead of follow after.

Tom gazed in surprise the younger boy quickly concealed with a look of calculation. "What was that?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully. It reminded him of the Dementor-mimic spell Hermione had used to pull his old soul out so she could abuse it for the ritual... technically he was a dead man now, his real soul gone to the afterlife for whatever fate awaited it. The current him was only a sad mimic, wearing his body and memories and goals. That was a disturbing thought. What if none of his magic was the same now? What if he couldn't cast light magic any longer? But, no, he'd managed a Lumos just fine earlier.

"I think I'm beginning to see why you botched the Killing Curse, if all your magic comes out strange and wrong," Tom remarked with a cool demeanor, but he could tell the young man had to be dying of curiosity inside. He'd have to give him something to work with, if only to learn if Tom could indeed figure out a way to fix this condition.

"My soul," he began hesitantly, "is different from other people's." What lie to spin? "I don't suppose you know any soul magic."

Tom looked wary, knowing this was crossing into forbidden territory, but also eager. "Not as much as I would like. But enough to know it shouldn't have caused _me_ pain, unless you have some sort of strange soul bond with me. Which should be impossible."

Harry bit his lip. "The botched Avada Kedavra formed the bond." Technically true, he just didn't specify which one. "And it botched because of a messed up soul." Sort of true, again.

Tom looked fascinated, but also like he felt himself superior; he clearly thought now Harry knew some deep dark magics he'd dabbled in himself but was such an idiot he'd mucked them up entirely with world record breaking incompetence.

Inwardly, Harry was feeling like their whole plan had been frantic and stupid. They hadn't really had time to think it all out, they'd felt desperate to stop things from getting any worse, and the plan had suffered for it - no, no, it could still go through. This was just a minor set back. Riddle would either find a way to fix this, or let his guard down enough Harry could kill the both of them.

" _Point me,_ Diagon Alley," Tom said, turning his back on him again. Although hexing his back seemed tempting on those few moments Riddle had shown it, he had no doubt Tom had quick reflexes and was not perhaps as unguarded as he appeared. He'd have to bide his time and pick his moment of attack carefully.

A stray bullet out of nowhere - the stupid things could travel easily a mile away from their original target - clipped Harry on the edge of his arm, making them both wince. A nice, red bleeding gash was left behind, almost like a claw.

"Well, I guess that answers the question of whether I can get someone or something else to hurt you for me," Riddle muttered darkly under his breath.

Of course he'd been secretly plotting how to kill him. How Riddle. (he discreetly ignored that he was doing the exact same thing)

"How old are you?" he asked randomly. Looking around at the decimated streets, he wondered if they were not perhaps lost. The world looked a lot different without any street signs and many of the buildings coated in rubble, after all. He doubted the Knight Bus would be operating under these conditions. Uneasily, he wondered if even Diagon Alley would actually be safe, either. It wasn't like it had a giant net over it, even if Muggles didn't notice it a stray bomb drifting in the wind wasn't likely to be so discriminating as to care about notice-me-not charms. He wondered, too, if Tom had realized this yet, or if the boy was holding on to stubborn desperation.

Riddle blinked. "16. I'm going into fifth year after the summer. What age are you?" So he'd only got here just in the nick of time before the boy learned to make his first horcrux and completed it, then. And he found and opened the Chamber in the 1942-1943 fifth year, too. Murderous little fink. He recalled the man had murdered his father after the chamber incident, too, when he was old enough to avoid the trace, if he remembered right, maybe even used the death to fuel the first of the horcruxes about a year from now in his sixth year, which would explain why he looked a little younger than the Dairy. That would just be his style.

"17. Turning 18 this summer, though. I guess you could say I should be in my 7th." Sighing, he looked around. "I don't think we're getting anywhere. Let's apparate."

"There's an anti-apparation ward on Diagon Alley right now according the Daily Prophet, due to a mass Dark Wizard attack yesterday," Tom informed him morosely. "Otherwise I wouldn't still be here right now with bombs trying to drop on my head. Trace or no trace." He paused. "Can you apparate side-along without splitting us both with your spells malfunctioning?"

"Err, right." Of course Riddle knew how to apparate already. "And of course I can, I've apparated just fine. What about Hogsmeade?"

"The same," Riddle said, looking the most depressed he'd ever seen him, before coughing and renewing his bubble head charm. "Perhaps we should find some kind of temporary shelter."

Some white flecks fell from the sky, but Harry didn't know if they were tiny bits of snow or just more dust; there was certainly already a lot of dust in the air. Even the air bubble head charm didn't seem to be enough, because dust kept coating to the bubble and percolating through. It was meant to repel water, not endless ash. Harry found he had to agree, "This situation is getting ridiculous. We can come back in the morning if we want." To Riddle's surprise, he reached out and grabbed the younger boy with no explanation of where they were going, and popped them both elsewhere. He tried to ignore the way he felt less numb, more whole again when he took the hand.

"Farmland?" Tom said, confused. On impulse, Harry had popped them to the first location in his head, old Surrey. It must have been a lot less developed in this particular spot, back when.

"Nothing worth bombing here," Harry pointed out. "At least it got us out of the ash."

The two homeless boys peered around the land, and grudgingly, Tom dipped his head, conceding it was better to be out here than there.

"We can probably find a barn to crash in and put a Notice-Me-Not so we can sleep untroubled tonight," Harry took charge, moving forward.

Tom, however, stood stock still. "A _barn_?! You want me to sleep in a barn? Like filthy livestock?"

Harry marched on, unamused. "Yes. Come on. We don't want a farmer to see us on his property and decide to sic his dogs on us, or something."

"No," Tom still refused. "Absolutely not. Let me handle this. We will sleep in a house, like proper, civilized human beings." Heh. One would almost think the Slytherin Heir was spoiled, and not raised in an orphanage. "Only a mudblood would want to sleep with livestock."

"No one wants to sleep with livestock, Tom." Except complete weirdoes. "Just sometimes you have to take your safe sleeping spots where you can get them."

Tom walked resolutely towards the nearest house in the distance. "Well, I can get them just fine. Watch and see." He went up and knocked on the door. It opened. "Hello, ma'am, I was wondering if you could do us a brief favor. You see, we're refugees from the city-" The door slammed in his face. Tom scowled. "Well, I never."

"Could get them, you say?" Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. "Looks like your charm doesn't work on everyone."

"I should hex that damned, selfish muggle." He knocked on the door. Then, when that was answered with barking dogs, he pointed his wand. "Alohamora." The door swung open.

"Merlin, Riddle, what are you doing?" Harry half-shouted, raising his own wand. He couldn't let him actually hex a muggle.

" _Imperio,"_ Tom intoned with an air of command. "You will let us stay at your house."

The woman nodded blankly, eyes staring at nothing. She stepped aside and let them in.

"That's fucking creepy."

"Oh, you're one to talk," Tom laughed. "You can't report me for this when you've used Unforgivables yourself, and dabbled with such dark magics you've mucked up your own soul and need _me_ to help you." He had a point. But still.

"That's not what I meant."

"No matter," Tom said dismissively. "I found us a place to sleep that isn't a barn. I did, indeed, 'get it'. And now I can work on my homework in peace."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You just came out of a warzone and you're concerned about homework?" For a moment, he wanted to cry. It reminded him of Hermione. And the impulsive way he'd just gone up to the house, it reminded him of Ron.

"My scores must be impeccable if I am to remain at the very top of the hierarchy."

Harry considered this. "I don't think that's actually true. I've seen many well respected jocks and popular kids who had no test scores to speak of at all." Dudley had even been more popular than Harry, and Harry was far more clever than him by a mile. "I think it would just tarnish your perfect image, and you can't stand that."

Tom looked at him discerningly. "And how do you already know so much about me? Could you really have told that about me in the less than a day we've known each other?"

Uh, whoops. "You just told me it's true by not denying it."

Tom smiled, although it wasn't a kind smile. "Perhaps there is some small wit to you after all. But another thing doesn't add. I don't think I ever told you my name."

"'Course I know your name, I came to murder you, didn't I?" Harry said with a lofty air that was more confident than he really felt. And with that, Tom tensed up, and Harry knew it was unlikely he was going to get to gut the boy tonight. "Not that I'm going to do that any longer," he reassured, but Tom did not relax. Harry wouldn't have in the same situation either. "Can you really hold up your domination spell in your sleep?"

Tom smirked. "Of course. I could likely cast it in my sleep, too."

They settled in uneasily, finding the house drafty and in some ways not much more comfortable than the barn would have been. With a silent incendio, Harry lit the fireplace, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Tom Riddle. Inwardly, Harry cursed himself for not keeping his silent magic abilities a secret.

Some hours passed with Harry staring blankly, curled up on a cushioned chair, and Tom working on his assignments, a part of Harry confused as to why despite doing nothing, he never grew bored. He supposed it would have been counterproductive for a shard of soul locked in an item with nothing to do to grow bored, but it was still disturbing to have one of his emotions seemingly missing from him. Even Tom after awhile seemed slightly unnerved by Harry staring at nothing unblinkingly.

When it came time to sleep, Harry felt the same, surprisingly. Did he not need to sleep much any more, or at all? That could be extremely advantageous. He had to admit he had a hard time imagining snake-face from the future sleeping or going to the bathroom like everyone else. Did Voldemort even need to eat? A horcrux that needed to would surely starve. But, then he reminded himself he was still in a living body, which very much did need to. Nagini had ate and slept. Perhaps he was just more numb to his own needs.

Tom grew annoyed at Harry's staring, clearly tired and wanting to sleep himself, but not wanting to be the first to. "I think it's time for bed."

"Go ahead." Harry folded his arms. Perhaps he should pretend to sleep?

Tom frowned. "I'd prefer if you did first. You did try to kill me today, after all. You can't be worried I will do the same after what happened, can you?"

Harry tilted his head. "I'm not really sleepy. As I said, go ahead. I won't hurt you," he lied. It would be a mostly painless death.

Tom frowned. "You have to sleep sometime." There was a hint of command - not in his voice, but in his magic.

Harry shrugged it off. "Not sleepy." Then he decided better of it. "But if you insist." He closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

An hour passed. It was not comfortable, both of them trying to 'sleep' in a chair. He could tell Tom was faking. And he bet Tom could tell he was faking, although Harry tried his best.

"I can see I have no choice if I want peace of mind tonight," Tom muttered, sitting up and raising his wand. "Stupefy."

The part of the spell to render him unconscious didn't seem to work very well, but he did slump, stunned. It seemed he was right, he really didn't need to sleep as much any more, even if his body technically needed rest, he had more resistance to it than before.

Satisfied, Riddle slunk to a proper bed, making the poor Muggle woman sleep on the floor instead. Bastard.

Their 'partnership' was off to an uneasy start.


	3. Silver tongue

_**Forced Empathy**_

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Maybe the only review I will ever get (that sometimes does happen to stories, especially the weirder more unpopular ones), so, this chapter is dedicated to you SilentAttendance. It might never have been written without you, actually, it _is_ hard to muster enthusiasm for a 0 review story.

 _SilentAttendance :_

 _FIRST REVIEW! WOOT WOOT!_  
 _So refreshing to see Harry be be so cold and calculating with nobody to compare who he was before and now. Reinforces the fact the morals are just a matter of perspective dictated by the existence of society.._  
 _And yeah I also think that Harry and Tom should be friends at most. Harry because of his current state and Tom because of his constant manipulation and hunger for power. I highly doubt empathy can stop Tom's hunger for power; he'd just find more ethical ways to get it, like become Minister of Magic with tons of followers/minions. He'd just avoid making people feel bad._  
 _This is really really great so far, I eagerly anticipate development of Tom and Harry!_  
 _Also really glad I found this story :)_

Yes, I wouldn't dream of making Tom Riddle into a Hufflepuff with no ambition, he'll stay a Slytherin through and through, no worries. And even people with empathy don't always avoid making people feel bad. Harry's state may or may not be permanent... although he'll never be quite the same as his old self, that's for sure. It's too early to be making firm predictions -wink- for things change over time.

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 **Chapter Three - Silver Tongue**

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So: he was plotting to kill Tom, and Tom was planning to kill him. Harry had the advantage in that Tom had no inclinations for a murder-suicide, but it looked like Tom was never going to let his guard down enough for Harry to kill them both. That left trying to find some soul magic that could snip their current bond together.

Harry already found himself thinking of what might do it. Perhaps a more dramatic soul alteration spell, to wipe out any last traces of Tom in Harry's fragment? Was that even possible, and would it work? He had no way of getting such a spell on his own. Another plan occurred to him: he should have let the Dementors eat Tom's soul. Well, alright, let was the wrong word; Tom would have just used his patronus. A shame. Though perhaps he could tie the boy up. But might they get greedy and decide they wanted even more that tasted of Tom and go after Harry next if he did that?

After waking in the morning, tho' Harry barely slept, and returning to London, they didn't encounter any more Dementors. That neatly took that dilemma out of his hands.

Exactly how he slept and woke up though, was surprisingly interesting. He'd barely dreamed, but when he did, it seemed like he had one of Tom's dreams. It was a nightmare, green light flying at him, his own face staring back at him with ugly hate - had he really looked like that, from the other side of things? It was weird to realize that from the perspective of everyone in this timeline, it was Harry who would look like the monster, not Tom. Although Tom had strangled a rabbit already, that wasn't exactly a death sentence.

And when Tom woke up, he'd dreamed of that too, briefly, before he woke up himself. He noted the spell had worn off on its own, clearly, and Tom noticed it too, with a frown. The younger boy would be more cautious in the future, which was a shame. Although he noticed Tom unraveling an alarm spell he'd set around himself, so even if he had stirred first it probably wouldn't have been enough against the other boy's paranoia. Really, perhaps he should have expected this. Only a very paranoid person about death would create 7 horcruxes instead of 1, and you didn't just forget someone had tried to off you a day ago.

Today, thankfully, the planes didn't seem to be dropping bombs over London. Or at least, not yet. One of them always kept watch over the sky, constantly scanning for threats. It was summer, so by all rights it should have been bakingly warm, but the dust clogging in the sky left a chill. Or maybe that was just Harry's torn soul talking, or Dementors lurking somewhere unseen nearby.

At one point, they found a field of corpses, and Tom stopped, a gleam in his eyes, and spoke:

"If the school had any love for me, do you think they would have left me to rot in the blitz? Or go homeless in general?"

Harry pursed his lips, finding it hard to argue with that. Why had they? It seemed unusually callous of Dumbledore, a man he'd always respected and admired (a part of him even thought about naming a kid after the man some day) to just dump a child he didn't like into a warzone, homeless and without shelter or food, to survive on their own. Had he really been secretly trying to kill Riddle? Then again, it had been Dippet in charge, who seemed to actually like the young Tom Riddle, which made things even more baffling. Why would you leave someone you liked to, if Tom had been a different, weaker person, something that looked like sheer death? Were bureaucrats really that damn stupid?

Wait, don't answer that, he knew already.

"They under-estimate Muggles," he responded, enjoying the opportunity to point out muggles were not as weak or useless as wizards liked to think they were. "They don't think they have any power. They don't think muggle-borns have any power, either. But we both know they're wrong. Just look at all of this." He waved his hand."Does this level of destruction look like anything you'd call weak? How many wizards do you know who could do anything resembling this much damage? And Muggles grow more powerful all the time." What was he doing? Trying to scare Tom into respecting muggles? Make him proud of his ancestry? He'd really just intended to taunt him, knowing how weak he thought of muggles, how ashamed he felt that anyone had ever called him a mudblood... and without having the Chamber, there certainly were Slytherins who did think he was one.

It would be dangerous to tell everyone in Slytherin he was the heir, _then_ open the chamber, as Slytherins could be opportunistic enough to eat their own and that would make him blackmailable. So it had to be something he'd done after he'd cleared the Slytherin Heir name by framing Hagrid, or something he only told his most trusted, or both. He probably asserted to people he was half blood, but without proof many would wonder. If he wasn't so charming, would he be treated like crap there? Or were tensions not quite as fierce at this time? The underlying tension had to be there if he was to use it to gather his followers in the first place. So in a lot of ways it made sense Tom Riddle would actually not have any extremely close allies yet, and this was the year he started to gain them with sly hints and fear and _murder._

How much could he derail, then, if he simply didn't let Riddle open the Chamber? Maybe he didn't even need to kill him at all. Maybe he just needed to thwart his most basic plans. It could make a good plan B. Now, how was Tom responding to his words? In a word, annoyed. But also hesitant, because if there was one thing Tom Riddle adored it was praise.

"That doesn't sound like something a follower of Grindelwald would say," Tom bit out accusingly, avoiding the questions altogether. "Do you love muggles, then? They might not be completely weak, but they're stupider than us." It sounded less like a retort and more something Tom was saying to comfort himself. Harry had the advantage of already knowing Tom had, for years, blamed his unhappiness at the orphanage and his lack of parents on Muggles, and that had to linger even after learning his mother was a witch and not the family muggle. That he desperately held on to the idea he was special, more special than the rest of them, and if muggles were just the same as wizards what did that leave him? The Heir of Slytherin, if he could prove it, but that was only special if you believed like Slytherin did in pureblood superiority, in which case, again, he had to contort himself into thinking the purity of his line somehow overcame the 'flaw' of his muggle ancestry.

Harry smiled. "I don't love muggles, and neither do I hate them. And I never said I was trying to follow Grindelwald because I loved his beliefs so much, but I should point out even Grindelwald thinks Muggles can be dangerous." Actually, he'd never said he was trying to follow Grindelwald at all. "If Muggles are stupider than us, then why has muggle innovation in the last few years outstripped Wizarding Kind? Why have they caught up to us, flying in the sky just as we fly, with merely the power of their wits?" He was a little surprised he was being so calm, instead of his normal outrage at having someone believe differently from him. Maybe it was the change in his soul. Or there was something about long walks with very little to do that encouraged calm thought and wool gathering. Harry wondered if Tom had ever had someone to challenge him on his beliefs before. He probably hid his true beliefs from most people in order to be charming, but he felt little need to be charming with Harry. This might be the most honest Tom had been with anyone in his whole life. A little sad, really.

"I concede your points," Tom said unhappily, "but do not consider this proof Muggles are as wise as us. They are still blind to entire facets of reality of which we alone are aware." With disgust, Harry realized in these past few minutes, he'd been exceedingly Slytherin. What was wrong with him? And yet, it had worked. He'd gotten Tom to agree with him on something. He'd nudged Tom's position toward the political center.

"Blind only because we keep wiping their minds. They aren't so blind that they don't frequently see just what is really going on, this fact is just obscured because we go out of our way to blind them and then blame them for the blindness we just inflicted on them."

"Perhaps." Tom glowered, and appeared to have no easy retort. Not necessarily a mark of weakness like others would take it. A more illogical person would have wasted no time retorting, since true stupidity never shuts up in the face of facts. At last, after some thought, he said, "You have no actual proof they wouldn't be just as stupid, and you yourself said they were dangerous. Too dangerous to leave unblinded. So I suppose neither of us will ever know which one is right."

A verbal tie. He could accept that. And Tom was right, he couldn't prove it. "Maybe not. But I do know one thing. Having a foot in both worlds? It makes us superior to both of them. We know things neither can comprehend." Was he... trying to charm Tom? This was backwards. Tom Riddle was supposed to be the one trying to seduce him to his side, not... what was he even doing? He wanted to kill Tom! This had to be the less altered parts of the soul fragment talking, he still had his Parselmouth ability, so he still had a Slytherin side to it, and he didn't have his old full soul to counterbalance it anymore. He hated to admit it but he wasn't exactly the same person as before. If he fought against it, could he be his old self again? Not with this numbness. Unconsciously, he stepped closer to Riddle to soothe it, to let the connection make his soul feel whole again.

"Do you know any dark magic to raise Inferi? They could be quite useful," Tom mused, being shockingly bold and open with him. "We've got so many corpses around here, it seems a shame to waste them."

Harry felt disgust, but another half of him wanted to laugh and agree. He decided to crush down that half, which clearly wasn't him (he hoped) but stay polite. "What exactly would we do with them? The planes, the enemies, are in the sky, not the air-" he stopped, going still. It looked like he was incorrect. There was the pub to the Leaky Cauldron. And around it, a swarm of corpses fighting Wizards. Someone had beaten Tom to the idea, clearly. "Any Plan B, Tom? I somehow don't think Diagon Alley is safe right now. Your contact there may not, well, even be there." Tom looked annoyed, but for once it was not at him; his annoyance was a promise of potent doom to the thing that had offended him.

"Then we make it safe. Can you fight?"

"I killed you, didn't I?" Harry was insulted. Could he fight, indeed!

"With such incompetence that I came back to life." That wasn't a phrase you heard every day. "A better question I suppose is will you? I still desire to go to school, and that means not joining Grindelwald." Tom paused. "If it wasn't Muggles, exactly, that made you want to join him, what was? Power? Teaching? I can offer you that and more," he said slyly. If only Tom's deductions had actually been correct, this might have been quite compelling. "I am well respected in my school. I know that, if we are seen together fighting against enemy Grindelwald sympathizers, I can get you into Hogwarts. But," Tom stressed, "you have to work with me. Interested?" Oh, if only Tom knew Harry had intended to stalk him there all along, even if he had to don the invisibility cloak to do it or reveal his secrets to Dumbledore. Tom might have been better off having Harry join Grindelwald, really. He thought he was being so sly.

Best to pretend to think it over, though. He put a look of intrigue on his face.

"We have a deal," Harry said, reaching out to clasp Tom's hand, without aggression this time. Tom reached out likewise to his. As they clasped, a warm feeling washed over the both of them, a strange resonance and something that sounded almost like phoenix song that was too faint to hear vibrated. He swore, almost, that he could feel in that moment Tom's feelings and thoughts as well, the mutual puzzlement, the hunger in his belly from eating very little since yesterday morning on getting kicked out of the orphanage, hunger Harry should have been feeling too in his own body all along yet only properly became aware of in his own body when they grasped hands. A similar tiredness, from staying up wary and alert in a new place right next to an enemy. Aches, from where they had been injured and had hurt another. And the real temperature of the air, which Harry now realized was warmer than he'd interpreted it before.

For far too long, neither let go, perplexed and enraptured by the strangeness of it. Tom seemed to realize this first, but possessing no shame, merely looked him over. _What are you?_

"I don't know," Harry responded, before watching Riddle take back his hand like he'd been struck with horror and realizing Riddle's question _hadn't been verbal._

"I don't know how you broke my shields, but it won't happen again. Stay out of my head," Riddle commanded, and whirled toward the battle field, curses on his lips. The weird moment of camaraderie was over.

Both were sure it wouldn't happen again.

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a.n: _This chapter ended up being weirdly introspective, and even with both plotting to murder each other they were both more amiable and charming than I was expecting. It's safe to say I can't actually guarantee which way the story will go, it's got a mind of its own... Also Harry didn't notice that Tom successfully made him sympathize with him and step closer to his side as well this chapter._

For anyone who got confused as to how Harry 'swayed' Tom so easily when Tom is supposed to be the big charmer: Tom's goal there was never 'make Harry hate muggles' it was 'make Harry hate Dumbledore and the authorities and feel sad for Tom', and he knows being charming means he has to pick his battles; Tom is just a bit more clever than Harry is, honestly, and he's got a lot more experience being manipulative. It's also in his best interest to tease out what Harry's real beliefs are, as he hates Harry having the upper hand as Harry clearly knows more about Tom than the other way around right now.

I know updating too fast is a bad way to get reviews, but, you have muse when you have muse.


	4. Pain versus Immortality

_**Forced Empathy**_

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 _Thanks again to all who reviewed. I guess I'm writing for like two people. You know who you are. That and myself. I should probably resign myself to this fic's unpopularity; most people would much rather read about kissing and the alpha male (Riddle) being immediately dazzled by the lead if in denial about it, rather than two people who want to murder each other who may eventually come to a slow mutual respect for one another. Although I promise you things won't always stay the same; life is change.  
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 **Four -** **Pain vs. Immortality**

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On analysis of the battle field, it looked like there were more walking corpses than dark wizards. The dead could not have just started walking up and about entirely on their own, however.

"Where's their enchanter?" Harry asked, moving into the fray fearlessly and sending off a nasty blasting spell that blew one wannabe zombie to smithereens.

One fleck spattered Tom and the more elegant boy looked rather less than pleased by it. " **Watch it**!" Tom flung a silent spell at their foes even as he spoke; very impressive for a fifth year and even above, considering most started to learn nonverbal by mentally muttering it in their heads, here Tom had focused successfully on conversation with Harry instead. Harry really had expected nothing less though. "He or she must be hiding. He may even have left, if he gave them a simple enough order, but if they show any complexity or change in behavior then we know she must be hiding."

Harry pondered it for a moment. "I don't think they'd have left; I bet they want to survey their work. Unless this entire thing is just a distraction."

"I hadn't considered that yet," Tom admitted, but emphasized the yet, like he was certain no conclusion would ever escape _him_. "Let's destroy them all and see what they do."

Harry nodded.

An auror spotted them after blasting a ring of inferi around him into flying through the air away from him in various pieces. Some of those pieces continued to move detached from their original body - incompetent, in Harry's opinion, as the best way was to just try not to leave any pieces at all. "Boys! This is no place for youths, get to safety!"

"Are you kidding? The entrance to Diagon Alley is blocked by the things," Harry said. "You just want us to walk into bomb ridden London? Like that's safer!"

Tom, who had more social savvy than Harry, and probably more patience too, immediately buttered up to the man. "We're no ordinary youth, Sir, with due respect you've seen the quality of our spells. I'm the best in my year." As a demonstration, he casually lifted several Inferi up into the air and dangled them like strangled rabbits.

"It's not just Inferi," the auror growled, "where there is dark magic, there is a dark wizard. The bastard has been periodically aiming spells at us sight unseen, and there's no telling which direction it'll come from next. And he wears us down by sending wave after wave of abominations until we tire. Several of my comrades have already been taken."

An invisibility cloak - unlikely - or a disillusionment spell? "Do they aim from up high, or do they all come from ground level? Or is genuinely all directions?" Harry asked, having a little experience with this. He'd faced a similar situation once with a death eater that could fly at will.

The auror blinked, like he hadn't even realized his 'all directions' was too vague in 3d space with opponents that could fly. "Tends to be up high!"

On cue, a green light lashed down from above from the direction that seemed to originate by a 2nd story window. They all ducked behind an abandoned car for cover, which dented and shattered glass on impact but thankfully all on the other side from them.

"They may be apparating from building to building and sniping from the windows," Tom leaned in to whisper in Harry's ear. "If that's the case, we don't want to let on that we know. That auror shouts everything really loudly, he'll give everything we know away."

Harry nodded. "Maybe on a broom, sir? You try shooting up in the air?"

"I have!" Goodness, Tom was right. This man did shout. The Ministry had never been terribly competent though so he wasn't surprised.

"I'm all out of ideas then," Harry said loudly. "I guess we'll flee then. Come on Tom." Tom looked annoyed, so he looped his arm around his and said in a low voice to him: "Let's get out of sight and then start checking buildings." This seemed to mitigate it a bit, but Tom still looked like it was distasteful to say Tom Riddle was running away from anything.

They ran from their cover, dodging more spell-fire.

"Can you do a silent apparition?" It was a very difficult skill.

"No, not yet," Harry admitted. "I always meant to find the time to train how to do it." But he'd had very little free time during the war, and what time he did have to train ended up going toward Occlumency to keep his plans and location secret... "I have something better. We can just sneak in the buildings with my cloak." He had brought little with him besides clothing and his wand, but one particular piece of clothing was very, very valuable. A part of him was disgusted he was even showing it to Tom when it could make the boy more powerful, but he liked the idea of getting hexed or kidnapped by a wizard before he could kill Tom even less than revealing one of his secrets.

"Your cloak?"

Reluctantly, Harry ducked behind the first building corner they came across and pulled up his shirt, to reveal underneath it a seemingly invisible belly, his invisibility cloak wrapped around it snugly. He pulled it off, and watch Tom Riddle's eyes go wide with envy and greed. He had no doubt the other boy would try to steal it from him in a heartbeat, probably as a trophy the moment he figured out how to kill Harry. "I keep it with me at all times. It's my most valuable possession." Good luck stealing it from him alive when he was wearing it and apparently didn't need much sleep, if any, anymore.

"Sounds like a doable plan," Riddle concluded. "Let's go."

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It wasn't long before they found one of the buildings that had to have been visited by the dark wizard; it was crawling with the dead. Which seemed to notice them even under the cloak, _smelling_ them somehow. He supposed it made sense; some of them had so little of a face left they had to sense them in some inhuman manner, why not scenting magic?

They blasted them and made quick work of the lot. They weren't that intelligent, and wouldn't have been any trouble... if there weren't so many of them.

They waited for the wizard to apparate back to one of the windows. "From the pattern, it looked like the wizard preferred a slight circular pattern with occasional crisscrossing," Tom said quietly.

"Alri-" Harry said, but stopped mid sentence as their black-cloaked target appeared right in front of them, then zipped away without even realizing they were there. "Stupef- damn, she's fast!" It was indeed a she. Being an evil bastard was not a men only occupation, after all, although he had to admit it was likely more common to be so in this era. He also had to admit his own sexism in having kind of assumed she was a male at first.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "We'll just have to guess the pattern and catch up to her." He started to mutter under his breath and looked out one of the windows. "Circle, cross, circle, cross, cross, circle, 3, 2, 1... now!"

The witch materialized before them, just as they both shot off their spells. "Protego!" she said, smirking. "I thought I saw some of my inferi laying down on the ground instead of doing their duty. Guess I was right. Come out, come out to plaaaayyy~" she sang. " _Accio_ wands!" She tried, cleverly, but Harry and Tom both managed to stubbornly keep on to theirs.

 _Are all dark witches as nuts as Bellatrix?_ Harry wondered.

"Are you aurors, or those two nasty boys, I wonder?" she hummed. "You don't have to join them, you know. You could be one of us. Grindelwald offers great power to talented wizards such as yourself. All you have to do... is come out." Then, unexpectedly, she shouted " _Accio_ shoes!"

Both Tom and Harry were jerked off their feet and fell on their bums, the cloak falling off them and sprawling to the side. It was a rather dirty, unconventional tactic, but the woman was fighting a war, there were no rules here. He quietly congratulated her in his mind for her cleverness, even as he vowed she wouldn't get another one up over him. It was too bad they couldn't use unforgiveables too sparingly with the auror nearby, who would probably frown on a torture curse or two- wait, what was he thinking? He could defeat her without resorting to dark magic! He was better than that.

"An invisibility cloak! ooh, you are full of surprises! _Acc_ -"

"No you don't!" Harry shouted, and grabbed his cloak before she could steal it and run off with it. He wrapped it around his belly again and knotted it snugly. Tom, meanwhile, wasted no time unleashing another stupefy at her. The woman stepped aside. It was clear she was a dangerous and experienced witch, full grown where they both were, well, barely adults and in muggle society not even that.

" _Accio_ shoes," Tom said, clearly feeling turn-about is fair play. Unfortunately, this didn't work either.

The woman cackled and lifted up one of her feet to wiggle her toes at them, "Nice try, but I'm not wearing any shoes dear boy."

Harry tried to hex her while she was in this unbalanced position (and unbalanced mind; who went running around when there was shrapnel about with bare feet?) and she quickly hopped one-footed aside and threw a Killing Curse back, clearly having no compunction about using Unforgiveables herself as the Ministry already wanted her dead.

A nasty, wonderful thought occurred to him. What if he couldn't kill Tom but this witch could? When both of their attention was on each other instead of him, he quietly waved his wand and sabotaged Tom by tripping him with a severed limb.

The witch cackled with delight, pointing her wand straight at the now vulnerable easy target, and Tom tried to scramble up from the floor, eyes wide with horror at once again the sight of his own impending death. " _Avada Kedavra!"_

And so, Tom died. Again.

Harry gave a hiss of triumph, which turned to distaste when the witch instead aimed a stunner at him instead of the killing curse. What was she playing at? But it looked like it didn't matter. Tom wasn't getting up. It had worked! It must have just been a problem of him trying to off him, not anyone else, maybe some unfortunate recognition in his wand that their souls were alike and it loyally trying to keep him from offing himself, or something. He'd just deal with the witch and then he could live, free! Free at last from ever having to worry about Voldemort!

"Bombarda!" He shouted, aiming it at the ceiling above instead of her.

"Missed!" she laughed, or started to before her eyes went wide at a loud cracking noise. She looked up as it all started to tumble down on her, and tried to move, but a stunner hit her in her distraction before she could flee from them again.

An uneasy feeling in his gut, Harry turned around to look at the source of the stunner.

Tom Riddle was alive again, lazily twirling his wand and looking like the cat that ate the canary. "So," he intoned with fake casualness. "What exactly kind of botched curse makes a person _immortal_ , hm?"

Damn.

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* * *

.

Long moments stretched by, with Harry uncertain how to explain.

"Do you even know why, I wonder?" Tom peered at him, and he felt a strong prick and immediately looked away, strengthening his shields as much as possible. "You don't want to reveal it. Do you realize your silence, you omission, is as good as a confirmation of guilt?"

Harry frowned, refusing to cede ground. "No it's not." A good liar acts like teflon or rubber, deny, deny, deny. "I have my suspicions though. I guess if you survive one Avada Kedavra you can survive another, like getting immunity from Dragon Pox you've had before." Then he pondered. Should he in fact try to lure Riddle into treating him as valuable, as in-expendable as a source of immortality for the boy? Or would that be dangerous, the younger boy tempted, should he prove too annoying, to simply lock him in a secure box somewhere and never let him out again? Then again he might be tempted to do that even without the knowledge, since Harry had told him he couldn't kill him either- oh snap...

"Then why," Tom purred, "would it grant immortality to _you_? You weren't hit with the curse, you cast it."

"I never said it did. Hurting me hurts you, so you wouldn't want to kill me because it would cause you pain."

"Somehow, I very much doubt Avada Kedavra is like a pox, something you can just develop an immunity to if you're exposed to it before." Tom turned his back on him again, contemptuously, to peer out the window to observe the auror who had at this point noticed no more spells or undead were forthcoming and was looking rather elated. "No. We have a soul bond. The pain we both suffer, the strange occurrences when we touch... it's obvious. And somehow," here he sounded almost reverent, soft and joyous, "this has made us both immortal." Then Tom's fist tightened. "You must know, if you've dabbled with soul magic. But for some reason, you don't want to tell me this." Damn. His lack of honesty had backfired on him. Should he just have admitted everything straight out from the beginning? Would Tom even have believed him then? It was rather absurd sounding. "Worst of all... you want to get _rid of it."_

Despite himself, Harry felt a little surprised Tom would want a bond that could cause him pain. Inwardly he knew better, that Tom would suffer just about anything for immortality, and would have trouble empathizing with anyone who didn't want the same... but there had to be some portion that wasn't still pleased about that shared pain, the co-dependence, and maybe he could play to it.

"If **you** had the ability to make yourself and anyone immortal, at the cost of feeling their pain, would _you_ want some random boy you've never met before and aren't even sure if they are worthy, to be your first pick? To be your one weakness in the world?" Harry pointed out, and folded his arms. He got Tom's attention enough to make the other man look back at him. Happily, it looked like the other bought it.

"I _am_ worthy!" Riddle's magic flared in anger. "If you can't see that, then I don't know if I find _you_ worthy."

"Exactly," Harry said, quickly seizing on the opportunity Riddle's temper had afforded him. "I'm some person you've never meet. You're some person I've never met. Why leap too quick to spend eternity together, with every pain suffered to one inflicted on both? We would be the other's biggest weakness." Sounded pretty nightmarish, if you asked him.

Riddle looked, uncharacteristically, indecisive. He knew Riddle hated depending on others more than anything, saw dependence as a weakness, especially love or _anything_ that would make one suffer on the behalf of others. Yet Riddle also wanted immortality more than anything. "Perhaps the weaknesses of the bond can be rectified."

"The bond is the weakness," Harry said, scoffing. "Get rid of the reliance upon me, and there would be no bond at all, _Tom_." He stressed the name because he knew Tom hated it. "Yet the bond is all that tethers you to this earth. Get rid of it, and bye bye immortality. You'd still be alive though, no worries about that, since your soul is currently in your body. Maybe you could find another method for immortality."

Tom looked torn, two sides of him fighting for dominance. One, his fierce independence. The other, his deep, endless fear of pain and death. Both of them rooted ultimately in the same fear of weakness, of being like other people who died meaninglessly for another - like his Mother for him in childbirth - and could not even protect that other from suffering or coming to despise that person. Harry could only hope his desire for independence would win out, because if Tom helped him get rid of this method of immortality then he could finally win.

If the bond could even be removed without killing them both at once, being that it only existed because their souls were basically the same now, except one was whole, the other not. He wasn't so sure. He really wasn't unaware of the irony that he was now arguing for Tom to reject everything everyone on the side of good had tried to get him to embrace - reliance and dependence on other people.

"So what do you say? You want to help me break the bond between us?" Harry said eagerly. "It can't be much fun for you."

Tom shifted uncertainly, looking smaller than he'd ever seen him.

"I don't know."

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* * *

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a/n: There you go. I hope you enjoyed the latest plot twist unending everything on its ears. Please tell me if you find unrealistic in any way.

Action in every chapter! Isn't that a lot better than those stories where nothing happens for 10 chapters because the protagonist is too busy hoping Riddle will spill deep secrets to a fellow Slytherin when they already know all of Riddle's deepest secrets regarding horcruxes existing, which is more than he ever told his followers? Or changing him with the power of kisses (which works _oh so well_ for people in abusive relationships with murderers in real life _/snark_ )? Yeahhh. As much as I genuinely like Riddle stories, most of them really aren't very strong on logic or writing. But they'll all likely still be more popular than this one, because, I dunno, if people wanted fics like this they'd have written them already.

Some of those bad fics are just like Twilight (just exchange broody vampire who manages to be the most popular boy in school who threatens to hurt his true love with broody dark lord who manages to be most popular boy in school who threatens to hurt his true love... although Tom still manages to be more interesting somehow) which managed to be quite popular.


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